To Suffer the Slings and Arrows
by BMT and SuperMoose
Summary: ROTF with G1 tie-ins: I really, really hate those two, and if I'm honest with myself, it's because I'm jealous of them. By BlackMarketTrombones.


Warning: Contains gratuitous amounts of ANGST. Also the author's attempts at first person and stream-of-consciousness.

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"To Suffer the Slings and Arrows"

By BlackMarktetTrombones

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I really, really hate those two.

So I've got to wonder, sometimes, if Primus has got it out for me or something because I keep getting stuck with them. Not…before, because twins are rare enough that I'm sure I'd notice another pair even if I didn't care about them (which I don't even now), but after…it, it seems like they've been cropping up everywhere for vorns.

I'd say Prowl is getting revenge for eons of pranks (not so much after—I've been busy massacring Decepticons), but I know he would never do anything so illogical as to unnecessarily aggravate one of his subordinates (no matter how irritating said subordinate has been). I doubt if he even considered at all that I might be aggravated—Prowl doesn't really do inter-personal stuff. No, he probably only saw one strong fighter in need of something to do and two...well, pretty pathetic fighters—but maybe not as pathetic as I thought because they managed to…well, not fight but _face_, at least, Devastator (who even _I_ would have trouble fighting alone—of course, they weren't alone, which is kind of the point) and not end up in the scrap heap—and thought throwing us together would be An Improvement. Jazz was always the one who did the inter-personal stuff and I guess maybe he thought it might do me good to have someone I could relate to, but I guess I'll never be able to ask and find out for sure.

I thought I'd finally be rid of them on this back-water, Primus-forsaken little dirtball of a planet, but lo and behold, a scant stellar cycle after I arrived they (crash) landed right behind me (it's like they're magnetically attracted to me—opposites _do_ attract) and I wasn't going to leave where all the action's at because of a couple up screw-up losers like Skids and Mudflap, blunder twins extraordinaire. I go where the action's at because I want to kill Decepticons (partly for revenge, partly for the distant hope that I may someday get slagged beyond repair).

It's all worse here on Earth because there are so few of us that I can't avoid them. We live together, battle together (well, _I_ battle; they just goof around), and every time I see them together I hate them a little more. Every time someone says "Send in the twins" I remember a time when that meant more than a busted up vehicular transport for frozen organic byproducts. It meant "Get the slag out of the way because they won't give two frags if they kill you by accident." It meant Decepticons scattering, terrified, and the garbled truncated wails of the ones who were too slow. It meant torn plating and rent limbs and energon spilled by the gallons. It meant sparks crushed in their casings just as they were guttering out. It meant turning the tides of battles long thought lost with ruthlessness and recklessness and sheer power.

It was the recklessness that did us in.

Or maybe not. After all, under normal circumstances, three squadrons of 'Cons wouldn't have been close to a problem for us. Normal circumstances, however, do not include said squadrons being equipped with suicide bombs.

Anyway, Skids and Mudflap. They're dumb as sheet metal. I mean, I know I'm no genius, but it hurts my cranial unit to watch them, which is something I do surprisingly often. Sometimes I can't help it. Like now, for instance, as we fly back from the Glorious Resurrection of Optimus Prime and the Grand and Epic Reckoning With The Fallen (which I have taken to mentally calling it). Human modes of transit are horribly cramped and _of course_ I'm wedged right up next to them.

"Nice moves out there, Mudflap."

"Yeah, we really whupped 'em, eh, Skids?"

"Sho' did. Ya can't keep yer grip worth a frag, though."

"Aw, don't be like that, Skids. We turned out fine, didn't we? Don't we always?"

The words, the blasé tone, it's all almost painfully familiar.

"Fo' real, Mudflap." Serious now, that's new. "I thought you was dead."

"Stupid." It's a moment before I realize I'm the one who's spoken this time. "You're twins."

It is very nearly impossible to physically express emotion in one's alternate mode, but they both somehow project a distinctly quizzical air.

"If he was dead," I clarify gruffly before I can stop myself, "you'd know it."

They're silent (a rarity indeed) the rest of the flight back and I almost wonder if they even know I once had a twin. No one ever talks about him (they're too terrified of him even in memory—the pansies—and with good reason) and I'm in no hurry to reopen old wounds by remembering.

I can't help but remember though, not with the constant throbbing emptiness in my spark where he used to be and not with _them_ always around being all…_together_. The humans have provided a fairly decently sized piece of land for us to run around on, and they take off the moment the aerial transport unit lands. None of the humans ask them why (they've gotten used to our quirks) or ask me why I head out as well (at a discrete distance, of course, so it doesn't look like I'm following them). The humans don't like me. I once overheard one calling me a psychopath and nearly laughed (what would the flesh-bag have said about my other half?).

I never know why I watch them. It always ends up as it does now, racing and jeering and when one of them smacks the other upside the head, I remember doing the same thing with more force and the resulting scuffle is so familiar yet so not it hurts. They do that for a while until one of them tackles the other and they just sort of tumble into a heap and lay there under the stars and I watch them in secret until I hear someone coming up behind me.

"Prime," I say without turning around, because no one else sounds quite as big as him.

He's silent for a long time, and I can practically fell the intensity of his gaze on me. Then: "You seem troubled, Sideswipe."

This isn't the first time this has happened and I know how it's going to end. There's just something about his voice (powerful and grave and…understanding) that makes you want to trust him and follow him and die for him. I wonder briefly if he's aware of this power (he must be, and he must hate how easily he's able to convince mechs to die), then speak.

"Sometimes I hate them." I'm sitting, because from this angle I can look down at them without them being able to see me over a sloping rise in the land, and I don't move to look away. "A lot of the time, actually. I hate that they're happy and healthy and…whole and I'm not." _And never will be._ I don't say those words, but I think he gets it anyway.

Prime's silent for a while again and he sits down next to me. I still don't look at him.

"We had our differences, your brother and I," he says finally, "but deep down—_very_ deep down sometimes—Sunstreaker was a good bot."

I snort, trying—and failing—to hide how I flinched at his name. "Easy to say now he's dead and won't go on random homicidal rampages through the base anymore."

Another silence as I stare at the twins, but I don't really see them. I see the energon-soaked battlefield and corpses piled all around and my arm and half my leg are twenty yards away and there's fire everywhere and the acrid stench of burning bodies because everything went straight to the Pit when the first wave exploded and _I can't find him anywhere_ until something moves behind me and it's half a 'Con that blows up and I land right on top of him and _Primus_ it's bad, worse than anything I've seen anyone come back from, and he just sort of chokes out "S-Siders…" before he goes limp and I don't know how I manage to drag what's left of him back to base but by the time I do, it's too late for even Ratchet to do anything.

I don't know if I screamed when I felt him die or if it hurt too much to do anything but collapse.

"Sideswipe?"

But that was a long time ago and Prime's looking at me and sounding concerned so I finally turn to him and speak.

"Sometimes I hate you too, a little bit. And Megatron." I look up. "What's it like? Being…well, dead, I mean."

I am completely unsurprised by his cryptic reply. "I wish I could say, Sideswipe, but our mortal tongue does not have words enough for it."

I sigh. "We were created as living weapons, ya know. We never woulda existed if it wasn't for this war." I hate how weak I sound. "I wish there had never been any war."

The next instant, Prime's seized me by the shoulder joints and pulled me around to stare directly into my optics with such intensity it's frightening.

"Are you thinking of killing yourself, Sideswipe?" he asks softly, without preamble.

"It's been a long time, Prime," I mutter and I can't seem to tear my gaze away from his. "Don'tcha think I woulda done it by now?" I drop my head and my chin strikes my chest plate with a hollow clang. "'Sides he…S-Sunny'd never forgive me if I didn't go down takin' out as many of the slag-suckers who killed as I can. I just wish the fraggers were tougher. Thought for sure I'd finally get slagged today. Maybe next time I'll go one-on-one with Devastator." I smile weakly. "Give him the worst case of indigestion he's ever had."

It's a wild stab at humor, a desperate attempt to reduce the levity of the situation, and the shot goes far wide. He's still staring at me, I can _feel_ it, and I can tell he's not satisfied with my answer.

"Look, Prime, I'm not gonna offline myself, okay? But no speeches about 'living life to its fullest' or whatever are gonna work with me because I've already got one foot in the grave. He isn't just my brother, he's part of me and it feels like someone ripped out half my spark and crushed it and it…hurts every time someone says 'Send in the twins' and I almost start forward and every time I just barely stop myself from saying we instead of I…" I look up at the sky but the stars are covered by clouds now. "Every time I wake up and realize again that _he's not coming back_. I'm already half gone, Prime. Don't bother trying to save me."

There's another long silence and I'm sure that if Prime wasn't still holding me, I'd just fall over and never get back up. "If you hate them so much," he asks finally, "why are you always following them?"

Frag, he noticed? "Maybe I'm waiting for a good opportunity to kill 'em." It's a joke (a lousy joke, but a joke nonetheless), but he seems somewhat alarmed. "Relax, Prime, I'm not serious. I wouldn't wish that—this—on anyone."

There's a shrieked curse from below and I can hear the affection seeping through it. "Primus, I hate them," I mutter, and I don't say why but I think Prime realizes it's because I'm jealous of them. Ironic, really, that I have everything (looks, charm, skill) and they have nothing but the one thing that matters. "They remind of…_him_. Of how things used to be. That's why I hate them, but…that's why I watch them too. 'Cuz much as it hurts to remember him, I don't want to forget."

A clang echoes around us and Prime winces. "Are all twins so violent?" he asks, probably trying to ease out of such a painful subject. "I seem to remember your brother literally handing you your skid plate once."

I laugh. It sounds a bit hysterical for my tastes. "That's Sunstreaker, alright. I stuck around to point and laugh too long after he fell into my trap. Good ol' Sunshine." I smile distantly at the memory, painful though it was. "Always good for a laugh. And a quick maiming if you're not careful."

It's things like this that keep me going. Remembering in little pieces because recalling him all at once would make the loneliness and emptiness too much to bear. Just enough reminder of the good times to keep surviving for his sake, because no one else will remember him fondly once I'm gone.

"Ya know," I hear myself saying from what sounds like far away, "I never wish it was me who died instead. Wish I'd died with him, sure, but I'd never forgive myself if I put him through…this."

"Heya Prime, Sideswipe!"

I jump up as if scalded and there they are, though how they managed to climb he slope so quietly is beyond me.

"Whatcha doin'?" one of them asks curiously.

"Leaving," I growl and turn away, but something stops me, something almost like camaraderie or maybe a sense of identification, and I glare at them over my shoulder.

"Do yourselves favor," I mutter before driving away, back into the cold reality of ceaseless isolation, "and make sure you go offline together."

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A/N: Bonus points to the first person to correctly guess to what the title is alluding. (And **Darklight8121** wins doubly for guessing Hamlet _and_ for quoting the famous soliloquy in which the title is found. **Starfire201** wins half a point for first guessing it's in a Shakespearean play.)

Written because I like Sunstreaker and he's not in the movie. :(

Yes, Peter Cullen's voice is as great as Sideswipe says. Simon Furman owns all Furmanisms, by the way. More bonus points the first person to point out the one I've used in this fic. (**Jaka Tingkir** wins! The Furmanism is: "Give him the worst case of indigestion he's ever had." Here's your bonus points; do with them what you will.)

--BlackMarketTrombones


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